Fleming's Casino Royale: A Definitive Reimagining
by craigbond007
Summary: This is a darker vision of Casino Royale. In a separated continuity from my previous work, however, there will be new entries in "The Bond Dossier". A sequel to "Casino Royale" will begin as soon as all work is finished. More info inside.
1. Prologue

Yes, this is Ian Fleming's baby, but I felt it was my duty as a respectful fan to remake/update/ modernize Casino Royale. This time I characterize Bond very darkly, the way I would portray him. This will be the basis for an amateur Bond film I plan to get made where I star as James Bond, and I will post the script when finished. I'm trying to write both the novel and the screenplay back to back. These independent projects have been in development hell since 2005. This, I hope, will be the final step.

There will be some nods to the original book, and the 2006 film, but only slight nods, location wise, and some of the memorable quotes will be paraphrased. Most of this will be original, but the nods and references to the original are purely in respect for Ian Fleming. It's also his 100th birthday this year, and the 55th anniversary this April for Casino Royale, and Daniel Craig's 40th birthday, come to think of it. I though, why not write it to be finished within the time of these events?. So Read, enjoy, and review.

CASINO ROYALE

By Bryan Peters

There are places on this earth that no man should ever enter. Places of sin and greed. Places where if you're dealt a bad hand, you are surely out of the game. You can roll the dice, hope it lands where you bet on, but if not, your money is gone. Places like these are the gathering spots for the world's greedy. Millionaires, gangsters, people who are too arrogant for their own good. Some come to risk everything to make a good image for themselves. Some come with nothing at all, and leave with everything. Some are down on their luck, and some of them are just too lucky. It makes no difference. These are places of sin. No return. It may seem like heaven, until reality kicks you in the teeth and brings you round to your senses, to see things the way they really are. The reality of this safe heaven is… really the opposite. This is hell.

The place in question is called a casino, they are everywhere in the world. In every country, and in nearly every city. They even exist in our most pleasant, beautiful dreams, and, unfortunately, inexplicably, in our worst nightmares. Only when those dreams and nightmares come real do we take notice as to what hell we can put ourselves through sometimes.

This just happens to be the story of one of these nightmares coming to life. In fact, things turned out good, a beautiful, peaceful dream, something you wouldn't want to wake from. But soon enough, it was too good to be true, and the dream slowly turned into a man's worst nightmare.

Some people theorize that when you die, you go somewhere wonderful. No, it is not heaven. Nor is it hell. The truth is nobody knows what it is. The only thing that matters is that it is an endless hotel and casino.

There is one man, who knows that with his profession, he isn't destined to live a long time. His is a job that sends his life expectancy down the drain. But he couldn't complain at the time. A recent promotion meant his calling was inevitable. He is a man who could care less where he goes when he dies, but is certain that there had better be a road to drive his Bentley…

And that man's name is Bond…

JAMES BOND…


	2. Welcome to RoyalelesEaux

Chapter 1: Welcome To Royale Les-Eaux

James Bond strode through the front doors of the elegant Casino Royale. He was dressed in a tailored black tuxedo, dress trousers, and bowtie. He was trussed up for only one purpose: to play poker. This was his first assignment as a 00 agent. Bond was one of the small society of British Intelligence agents to be designated with a licence to kill.

With time to kill until the big tournament, Bond journeyed his way towards the bar. The casino was littered with patrons, ready to gamble, and almost brimming with anticipation as to the outcome of tonight's poker game. Bond himself was feeling a bit anxious. He ordered a glass of whiskey on the rocks to soothe his nerves a little, for anxiety and nervousness are two ways of getting killed in spy business. In Bond's case, it could be mistaken for fear at the poker table, and that fear can be mistaken for bluffing, and that is not something Bond wants tonight. He had to win, and he was determined not to lose. While his nerves were calming themselves with the cool burn of whiskey, he took the moment to reflect on the past few weeks.

Bond was sent on this mission because he was refutably the best gambler in the service. His superior, know only as "M", had great faith in Bond, which was why she elevated him to 00 status. And, although he was a bit on the arrogant and headstrong side, M knew that James Bond was, undoubtedly, the best, and only, agent reliable to handle this job. Of course, there were times in the young agent's life when his shortcomings and misdemeanors were downright unbearable, and definitely inexcusable, but, still, Bond and M maintained a great deal of mutual respect for one another.

Now, becoming a 00 wasn't easy, even for James Bond. To become a 00, one must basically perform two assassinations, in cold blood. They will be sanctioned off to the public as another unsolved murder. In fact, that is the main point of being a 00. to be an assassin of sorts. That bulks up the job, but with all the regular reconnaissance, spy work, stealth, and intelligence duties. But it all comes down to an eventual kill most of the time. Like this mission. Bond is playing poker to clean out a terrorist banker known as Le Chiffre, in hopes that he will either give British Intelligence his full cooperation, or be murdered by his paymasters. Either way, the mission will be a success.

For James Bond, however his story starts about five weeks ago…


	3. First Kills

Chapter 3: First Kill

Chapter 3: First Kills

Two weeks ago, James Bond was contacted by M. Although he had been an MI6 agent for a while, he had the ambition to attain a position in the 00 section, a highly sought after title amongst spies. It was almost always M who handpicked them. Soon enough, it was Bond's turn. She knew Bond had the talent and strength and determination to be given a licence to kill.

M gave him two simple tasks. They were to kill two people for crimes to the service. When someone betrays the service, be it treason, murder, blackmail, extortion, they must be dealt with immediately. When a 00 is sent, it is clear what is going to happen. Either arrest or assassinate. Nine times out of ten it is the latter. And it is a certainty that brute force will be exercised. When these two kills are completed, 00 status is attained.

The first kill was a man named Michaels. Bond was given a picture and was sent to kill the man at any cost, for involvement with a traitor in the Service. Bond had to get the information about the traitor and kill him as well. Something about selling security secrets. Bond's only concern at the moment was getting the job done, knowing the promotion was only a hair's breadth away. He had no fears and no limits to what he could do. Always business. When he was in the Navy, Bond always pushed himself to the limit, and he damned well exceeded it. He could accomplish feats such as holding his breath underwater for at least two and a half minutes, climbing mountains in the Himalayas, Utah, and Switzerland. He had also proven to be experienced at skiing and snowboarding in the Alps. Amongst other things, Bond had well conditioned driving, flying, and boating skills.

Bond checked his watch. Twelve o' clock, high noon. The time was almost his calling. Pistols at high noon. But, today was one of the days Bond hadn't expected to use his gun. Of course, he kept the Beretta 92F, his favourite gun by far, in hid shoulder holster, concealed behind a black blazer for at anytime at any moment's notice, he would have to pull the cold steel out and make a hasty kill. Today, Bond felt more like brawling.

He shrugged off his current line of thought as he noticed his target entering the back door of some building, of which nature Bond couldn't comprehend. Slowly, he made his way over to the building, and entered the first door he came across. It was a public bathroom. And, luckily, in a cubicle, there was Michaels, urinating. Suddenly, he stopped, zipped up, and came out, looking around, sensing another entity sharing the bathroom.

"Hello?" He called out, then, passing it off as his nerves getting in a tangle, proceeded to wash his hands.

_Now's my chance,_ Bond thought to himself. Having thought that, he made his move.

_I need to get out of here, I'm feeling uneasy,_ Michaels dwelled. _Dryden will want to see me next week for my payment and…_

The sudden appearance in the mirror of a seemingly harmless, but well built, and handsome man standing behind him wearing black corduroy pants, white collar shirt and a black blazer then shifted Michaels' thoughts. _But nobody else came in! Where did this guy…_

The man in the blazer grabbed his hair and slammed his head onto the sink table. The man had a tight grip over his face and eyes, forcing him to make a desperate attempt to blindly counter the attack…

Bond had this guy. Michaels couldn't see anything and was flailing around like a marionette. _Just have to change my grip and break his neck… this'll be quite a…_

Before he could finish that thought, a fist connected hard into Bond's nose, making him react and lose his hold on Michaels' neck. Bond fell backward into the wall, yet still managing to keep on his feet. Michaels charged, not unlike the way angry bulls do, ramming his head into Bond's gut. Bond grabbed his torso, just below the shoulder, keeping his opponent at bay, and slammed his body back and forth into the wall, and over into the cubicle.

Somehow, Michaels got one arm free and slammed it into Bond's knee. Bond doubled over, allowing Michaels to punch him in the face. Now Bond realized this was no picnic. He got angry, and with a roar he tackled Michaels and whacked his head into the wall repeatedly. Michaels was dazed, near unconsciousness. Then, with a last, brutal shove, Bond ran Michaels' head into the opposite wall, bashing his skull in, painting a small spot of the wall red.

Then Bond let the limp body down, creating a pool of blood on the floor. He went over to the running tap and splashed some water on his face. Then, he took the dead man's cell phone and walked casually out of the building and back into the streets.

Over a course of several days, Bond had gotten into a text message conversation with the one and only contact on the phone. Dryden. When he told M of this, she was more than pleased. She knew it was an insider, but Dryden? A well respected section chief with lots of experience had gone crooked. That was something new. Bond decided that he would be the next target. M didn't argue. She too thought that Dryden was a disgrace to Her Majesty's government and ordered him to be terminated.

Through carefulness and convincing text messaging, Bond fooled Dryden into thinking he was his contact, the now-dead Michaels. Bond received strict instructions from Dryden to meet with him in the Bahamas, where he was hiding. So, off Bond went. He arrived in the Bahamas, in a small, but populated village where anybody and nobody could go to hide. Bond was dressed like the typical vacationer. Beige-Grey cargo pants, a grey t-shirt, and a breathable bamboo woven Hawaiian shirt. Nobody around would suspect him, he fit right in. This was just in case Dryden had any lackeys running around trying to spot an assassin.

Nobody was around at Dryden's seedy hideout. It looked normal. A white bungalow with a pool out back and a nice forest behind it all. Bond broke in carefully, not breaking anything, or moving things around. And he just sat in a shady spot and waited for Dryden to show.

Half an hour had already passed and Bond heard a car pull into the driveway. Patiently, he waited until Dryden entered the office. Dryden was a man in his early forties, and looked somewhat weathered, but with a stone cold expression. However, when Dryden turned around to see Bond sitting in the chair, Bond detected a hint of dread coming across Dryden's face.

"M really doesn't mind you earning a little cash on the side, Dryden, but she'd prefer it if it wasn't selling secrets."

Dryden stood still, amazed it took MI6 so long, but realizing they didn't send their coveted 00 assassins. He never agreed with reactivating the 00's, he saw them as a relic of the Cold War, and a waste of money and agents. But why send Bond? He was just a reconnaissance and intelligence agent who always killed when ordered or in self defence, a simple mission specialist, as it were. Or so he thought.

"If you think your theatrics are going to scare me, you've got the wrong guy, Bond," Dryden gloated.

"Well you made quite the dramatic entrance, I thought I'd show you up," Bond replied.

"Why are you here? If M was quite certain I was bent, she would've sent a 00. Why you? Your file shows no kills. And to become a 00, it takes…"

"Two. And I've already got one notch on my belt… you remember Mr. Michaels?"

"Ah, yes, poor boy…"

After cutting himself off, Dryden pulled his gun from the drawer of his desk. He raised the barrel and pointed it at Bond. A smirk appeared, his eyes glistened as he was certain that victory was his and he'd get at least that one day more, as everyday for him was a gift. He squeezed the trigger slowly, his smile widening, baring teeth, yes, he was going to kill this man for meddling with his affairs…

"It's quite a pity… we barely got to know one another."

Then an extraordinary sound was heard. It wasn't a gunshot, it was the click of a gun without bullets. Not even the magazine was inside the butt. The smile quickly disappeared as Dryden looked over to Bond. Not only did the same victorious smirk appear on Bond's face, but he was also holding the up the ammo clip as if he was worshipping a rare artifact.

Bond spoke once again. "It's quite a pity… I know where you keep your gun. Suppose that's something…"

"True…" Dryden said lowly. "How did he die?"

"Your contact? Not well… but I'll tell you that he's dying proof that pissing can be bad for your health. I'll leave the rest to your imagination."

"He made you feel it, didn't he?" Dryden said with a mocking frown. "Well, you needn't worry. The second is…"

Then Bond drew his silenced Beretta, and fired. At the exact split second, Dryden whipped the gun at Bond's head, dazing him. Dryden made a run for it.


End file.
